The Shattered Crown: 3 (The Beast

Charmer) Maxym M. Martineau

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Also by Maxym M. Martineau
The Beast Charmer
Kingdom of Exiles
The Frozen Prince
The Shattered Crown
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Books. Change. Lives.

Copyright © 2022 by Maxym M. Martineau
Cover and internal design © 2022 by Sourcebooks
Cover art © Cliff Nielsen/Shannon Associates
Illustrations by Aud Koch

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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are
used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is
purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Published by Sourcebooks Fire, an imprint of Sourcebooks

P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
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 Contents
Front Cover

Title Page

Copyright

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen
Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Epilogue

Bestiary

Bonus Chapter

Acknowledgments

Excerpt from Shadows of the Lost

One

About the Author

Back Cover
For my children, Remmy and Ronin. May your lives be full of
adventure, wonder, and love.
 A Prophecy of Flames
“Awoken of ruin and blood, to command the skies and scorch the
earth,
Peace will return on the breath of his wing,
When a loving hand with the gift to break,
Offers their heart.”
 One
Leena

Fragrant, charcoal-gray smoke curled toward the midmorning sky,

twisting away from the crackling flames devouring the ceremonial
white oak pyre. A tribute to those who’d passed in the wake of
Yazmin’s unexpected attack. Their individual funeral pyres had
burned to ash days ago, but this? This would remain until the Crown
of the Council called for the flames to be doused. Until I called for
them to be doused.
Crown of the Council. It still didn’t seem real.
Letting out a quiet sigh, I tore my gaze away from the flames to
scan the open clearing. Crystalized dew clung to the dormant grass
beneath my feet, and glimmering icicles dripped from the trees
encircling Hireath. Winter was here, but it wouldn’t stay for long. I’d
missed the first frost of the season and the customary celebrations
that came with it. We all had, in a way.
Had it only been a week since Yazmin unleashed fury on her own
people? Ordered beasts to kill Charmers for the sake of some plan
we didn’t understand? Those who had died that day might have
already moved on to the gods’ realm, but the aftermath remained.
There were no happy bestial calls competing with the crashing
waterfall. No lull of conversation from Charmers wandering about
their once peaceful city. It was all too…quiet.
 Boots crunched against the grass behind me, and I turned toward
the keep and the lone man approaching. “Gaige.”
“Crown.” He tipped his chin in a polite bow.
A smile touched my lips. “Not yet.”
“In a matter of hours, you will be.” His steel-blue eyes twinkled
with a hint of mischief. Steady hands brushed along the signature
liquid-mercury robes of the Council. He was polished and prepared
to present himself—rather, present the new Crown—to his people.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
A week ago, I’d balked at the idea of ruling. But now… I stared at
the trees laden with houses and the keep standing tall against the
mountain. Something warm, heady, and true brewed in my gut.
Determination. This had been my home, and I’d do anything to
protect it.
“Good.” Gaige offered a knowing grin before turning away. “The
others are already waiting. Let’s get our affairs in order before the
ceremony begins.”
I fell into step beside him. “They’re back?”
“Arrived just a few minutes ago.” He nodded toward the monstrous
tree just a short distance away. An arched opening large enough for
six people to pass through shoulder to shoulder marked the entrance
to our communal library. Stained-glass windows were fitted between
knots in the bark, allowing sunlight to bathe the hollowed-out
interior.
I’d never been to a Council meeting before. Aside from my
inauguration into their ranks, I’d never gotten the chance. Even so,
something told me this particular meeting would be unlike any
they’d had previously.
 The grass beneath our feet turned to moss as we passed through
the threshold into the library. Heavy wooden tables littered the first
floor, and shelves were arranged in a circular pattern, pressed firm
against the trunk, and all packed full of books. A spiral staircase
crawled upward, and muted conversation carried from an open
landing a few stories up. My heart tightened as one voice, calm and
collected, threaded through the rest.
Noc.
He, along with Calem, Kost, and Oz, had departed shortly after I’d
recovered from Yazmin’s attack. They’d left Cruor in the capable
hands of Emelia, one of Noc’s most trusted sentries, but with Yazmin
on the loose, there was no telling whether the guild was safe. She
just as easily could’ve attacked them, like she had her own people,
while fleeing through the Kitska Forest. Not to mention, there was
still the matter of Darrien.
My hands clenched into tight fists as I climbed the stairs a few
steps behind Gaige. Darrien. He was no better than Yazmin,
betraying his own family to get what he wanted. He’d failed to
kidnap me and force Noc to relinquish his title as guild master—and
the power to raise the dead that came with it—but I highly doubted
he was done trying to exact his revenge.
When I hit the final stair and stepped onto the landing, a barking
laugh from Calem shook me from my thoughts. He leaned against a
bookshelf, lazy smirk on full display as he tilted his chin in silent
hello. Kaori stood quietly beside him. Her lustrous black hair was
done in an artful knot, and she traced the leaf pin holding it all
together. The same pin she’d used to skewer her hand and offer
Calem her blood, effectively saving his life.
Gaige had already seated himself at the round table beside Kost.
Felicks, Kost’s fox-like beast, had been dutifully sitting by his
master’s side. But at the sight of Gaige’s open lap—and the folds of
his mercury cloak that made for fantastic snuggling—he launched
onto Gaige’s thighs and turned in a series of circles before plopping
down and closing his eyes. Gaige chuckled as Kost raised a brow at
his beast, but he reached forward and scratched him beneath the
chin just the same. Inaudible words passed between Gaige and Kost,
and a foreign smile—relaxed and warm—claimed Kost’s face. Gaige
seemed to notice, too, and he tilted his head closer. When he was
only a breath away from Kost’s ear, he adjusted the fold of his collar
and whispered something that turned Kost’s cheeks red.
Kost pulled back with a visible swallow, and then made a show of
clearing his throat before turning to Oz and Raven on his free side.
He immediately engaged in a conversation with Oz, but my focus
remained on Gaige’s satisfied smirk. He met my eyes then, and his
grin deepened.
Oz and Kost chatted quietly as Kost’s embarrassment abated.
Raven, on the other hand… The lightness I’d felt upon seeing my
family dimmed. She was practiced in appearing bored—shoulders
loose, one arm draped over the back of her chair, lips pursed. But a
maelstrom of rage and pain brewed in her eyes. She’d just begun
her courtship with Eilan, only for Yazmin to murder him during the
attack on Hireath. We’d hardly spoken in the past few days, as she’d
chosen to remain in her chambers and grieve privately.
Oz looked up and followed my gaze to Raven. His expression
warmed, and he shifted in his seat, angling his broad shoulders
Raven’s direction. Voice low, he asked her something I couldn’t hear.
She blinked, some of the anger in her eyes fading, and then
responded slowly. Kost nodded as he took in her words, and Oz shot
me a knowing look before returning to their conversation.
 My chest tightened at the sight. Oz. Always looking out for others.
As I made a move to approach them, a gentle hand draped in wispy
shadows gripped my waist. “Miss me?”
A tingling warmth surged through my limbs, and I turned, throwing
my arms around my anam-cara. The last of those dark tendrils
disappeared with his surprise greeting, and I nuzzled against his
sternum before tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. My breath
caught in my chest. His new appearance still startled me, but in the
best kind of way. Shock-white hair. Intense, crystalline-blue eyes that
tore right through me. Even the glass cut of his jaw. Everything
about him was sharper, more defined, since the glamour that’d
obscured his identity had been removed.
“Of course I did. What kind of question is that?” I rolled my lower
lip into my mouth, biting back a laugh.
Lightly, he ran his knuckles along my cheek. “A silly one.” He
cupped my chin and pulled me in for a kiss that made my toes curl.
Beside us, Gaige cleared his throat. “Shall we get started, then?”
Felicks perked up at his words and abandoned his lap, once again
taking his place by Kost’s side.
Unwillingly, I broke away from Noc’s embrace, but lingered in his
arms. “I suppose.”
Noc’s grin turned sinful before he dipped his head toward my ear,
lips ghosting along my skin. “You can properly welcome me back
later, in the privacy of your bedroom.”
My stomach clenched as a burn crawled up the back of my neck.
We’d only been apart for a handful of days, yet I ached to end this
meeting before it even began just so I could take him up on his
suggestion.
Before my body could betray me, I approached the table. We had
important things to discuss, like my coronation as Crown. And the
plans I had for our people. Plans I wasn’t sure the Council would
agree with.
We all took our seats, and for a moment I stilled. Charmers and
assassins together at a Council meeting, eager and willing to ensure
our people were protected. There was no hesitation, despite our
different backgrounds. Which was good, because uniting was the
only way we’d have a chance of taking down Yazmin. Hope, steady
and warm, filled me as I sat beside Noc.
Maybe my plans would work. Maybe the Charmers would agree, if
they saw Cruor was on our side.
Gaige shuffled the loose papers before him. “I hereby call to order
the first Council meeting under our new Crown, Leena Edenfrell.”
I raised a brow. “Almost-new Crown.”
“Semantics.” He waved his hand loosely before reclining in his
chair, targeting me with his steely gaze. “First order of business—
modifying our Council to include Noc, Kost, Ozias, and Calem. At
least temporarily, while we deal with the current threat.”
Everyone straightened in their chairs, curious glances darting from
one person to the next.
Calem found his voice first. “Wait, what?”
“Is that really for the best? I don’t want to cause an upset,” Oz
added, bracing his forearms on the table.
I shook my head. “Right now, our people need to see they’re not
alone. We’ve been told since the beginning of time that it’s us
against the rest of Lendria. We need to show them that’s not the
case.”
“I see no problems with this arrangement,” Kaori said, her soft
voice full of quiet authority.
“Me neither.” Raven drilled her fingers along the table, tension
seeping out of her frame with every definitive tap.
 “If Leena thinks this is the best way forward,” Noc said, pulling my
focus, “then we’ll do it.” He dropped his hand to my leg, giving it a
tight squeeze of reassurance.
“Then it’s done.” Gaige dipped his quill into a nearby inkwell and
jotted something down on a stray piece of parchment. A soft hoot
sounded from the ceiling, but Gaige continued to write unperturbed.
Between the leaves and branches that knit together like rafters, an
owl with bark-like horns perched on a low-hanging limb. Actarius.
The Whet had been trapped outside the beast realm when Celeste,
the goddess of beasts, died.
Even though he’d use his powers to commemorate this moment,
Gaige hadn’t been the same since he discovered his memory had
been wiped. He took notes all the time now, carrying spare scraps of
paper in his pockets in case he needed to write something down on
the go. It was as if he didn’t trust his own memory anymore. As if
writing somehow solidified the moment and eased the stiffness in his
shoulders.
“What does this mean for Cruor?” Kost braided his fingers together,
first looking at Noc before slowly allowing his gaze to drift back to
Gaige.
“We’re all equal in the eyes of the Council. Our threats are your
threats and vice versa. Which means,” Gaige said, quill tapping
against parchment, “the Council won’t hesitate to come to your aid,
and you’ll be expected to do the same.”
“Our people, however, are another story,” Kaori said.
“So we fight for them, but they don’t fight for us?” Calem asked.
“Charmers haven’t participated in any type of large-scale conflict
since the First War,” I said. “Give them time to see you’re
trustworthy, that you’re part of our community now, and they’ll come
around.”
 “I’ll fight whenever you need me.” Raven’s words were sharp. “I
don’t care who it is.”
My stomach dropped at the same time Oz winced. The amount of
pain Raven must’ve been in. I wasn’t sure if succumbing to rage was
the right path, but I needed her fearlessness. We needed it. If the
Charmers saw how passionately she was willing to fight and confront
injustice, then maybe they’d follow suit.
Gently, I placed a hand on her shoulder. “Raven…”
She shrugged it off. “What about Yazmin?”
My hand fell to the table, but I didn’t pull away. I’d wronged her in
my pursuit of the truth behind the bounty. She hadn’t sent us on a
fruitless beast hunt. It wasn’t her Fabric Spinner that had captured
Noc and spirited him away, allowing Cruor’s Oath to take hold and
drive him insane. But at the time, I couldn’t fathom that Yazmin, our
former Crown, could do anything so…wrong. And in my anger and
confusion, I’d turned on Raven. Accused a broken woman of
something she’d had no part in.
I’d never wanted to rectify something so badly in my life.
Gaige let out a long sigh, extracting a piece of parchment from his
pile that looked more like stretched-out, decades-old leather. “I’m
getting close to deciphering her notes. This bit right here,” he said,
pointing to ancient glyphs etched in darkened red ink, “is a spell for
taming. I think. I’ve translated two of the ingredients—bones of a
tainted Charmer and blood of an undead prince—but the third piece
still eludes me.”
A dull ringing sounded in my ears as the hair on the back of my
neck stood on end. “Bones of a tainted Charmer?”
He nodded once, locking gazes with me. “I think that’s what
started this whole mess. She placed a bounty on you because she
needed your bones. But when the Myad deemed you worthy and
purified you with his magic, she had to look elsewhere. To Wynn.”
A chill swept over my skin. “Wynn?”
“Yes.” He swallowed thickly. “He successfully charmed you, which
tainted him. After Noc killed him, all Yazmin had to do was collect his
remains.”
“You know this for a fact?” Kost asked.
Kaori rested her chin in her hands. “Yes. She was the one who
disposed of Wynn’s body while you all were recovering.” Her eyes
darted to Calem. We’d certainly been preoccupied, both with my
injuries and his near-death experience.
Kost frowned. “The bounty called for bones to be delivered within
six hours of death. There’s no way they’d still be usable for a spell
after all this time.”
“Yazmin’s beast collection far surpasses all of ours,” Raven said as
a tremor feathered through her jaw. “I’m certain she has a Visavem.
They produce a dust that preserves the essence of any item. She
can bide her time while collecting whatever else she needs.”
“Fuck all.” Calem slid lower into his chair.
“And we know she already has Noc’s blood,” Oz said as he ran a
hand over his head.
Noc barely suppressed his growl. “That’s why she sent us on that
outlandish beast hunt.” He let out a long breath and shook his head.
“Blood alone didn’t make me a prince—I had to be recognized as
one by the gods. She sent us to the two ruins so I would meet the
criteria for her spell.”
Calem cursed again, and Oz formed tight fists on the table.
“Which leaves that third item,” Kost said.
“And a date.” Gaige’s soft declaration silenced us all.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
"O-o-o-oh, Lo-o-ord!" began Jim in a scared voice; then, gathering
courage as he saw the quizzing smile in the rover's eyes, "Thank
goodness that, though I'm young, I ain't tender."
"This man's name," continued Jack, "is Tari, and the other, bowing
there before the image, is Lobu. He is a little touched in the head
from a blow of a cutting-in spade——"
"These here two Cimmarons, you-alls says, is man-eaters, an' one of
'em is locoed," interrupted Broncho solemnly. "Wall, I'm shore
thankful a whole lot they ain't more numerous. Mebbe, though, these
two Marquesas sports have done roasted an' eaten the rest of the
outfit—they looks hungry enough to chaw up a whole bunch of
Navajo bucks without battin' an eye nor yet fallin' victims to
indegeestion. I reckon they regyards humans the same as we-alls do
pra'rie hen, ba'r stakes, terrapins, an' sech-like high-flung eadibles,
as bein' plumb full of relish. They don't look to me as if they'd pass
up their hands or quit s'long as thar's an uneaten cawpse idlin'
around; no, siree, they jest sharpens their carvin' knives an' sits right
into business."
"They used to be cannibals; they are not now," went on Jack. "These
two men are harpooners. Tari here knows Big Harry, whose mate I
was for three years trading among the Islands——"
"You don't say!"
"He says the Ocmulgee has been out three years with only three
hundred barrels of oil to her credit. She lost her mate and three men
in a fight with a solitary bull-whale in the Japanese seas; then scurvy
broke out whilst they were away to the south'ard; and, to make
matters worse, they got jammed in the ice the whole winter. When
they finally got clear there were only the captain and five men left.
The captain bore up all he knew to make northing. They had a long
spell of foul weather; then he died, and the other three men and
these two have been alone on the ship for a whole moon, drifting
under bare poles."
"Wall, I reckon as how they've been sittin' in pretty dirty luck; but do
you-alls mean to relate as how Destiny allows these here tattooed,
man-chewin' pagans to win through, whilst white men has to go
donnin' wings or tails, harps or hot pitchforks, as the case may be, in
the etarnal beyond? Fortune shore deals a queer game."
"That's about the size of it," said Jack.
"Can this here aboriginal speak English?"
"He can talk Beach-le-mer, a kind of pidgin English of the South
Seas."
"Same as that flapjack-tossin' Chink, Lung?"
"Pretty much the same."
"Wall, I surmise he regyards that 'ere hunchbacked, ebony mannikin
as havin' pulled him through this devastatin' holocaust, scurvy, which
downs the rest of the band so free an' easy," remarked the cowboy
musingly.
"What are we goin' to do, Jack?" asked the boy, with chattering
teeth. "Can't we rout out some dry duds? I'm near froze standin' here
talkin'."
"That's certainly the first thing to be thought about," agreed the
rolling-stone. "Then, when we've overhauled the ship below, we'll
have a powwow."
Leaving the two Kanakas on deck, they descended the companion-
way, and found themselves in a fair-sized cabin, with doorways
opening out of it.
In the centre was an inlaid mother-of-pearl table, and the bulkheads
were hung with curios of every description—spears of all shapes and
sizes, fantastic-looking bone-studded clubs, various harpoons, some
twisted and bent, evidently the relics of by-gone battles, swords of
sharks' teeth, ships' models in bottles, specimens of skrimshander,
rare shells and Japanese nitchkies in cabinets, carved cocoanuts,
feather cloaks and war head-dresses; and last, but not least, some
fearfully-grinning Japanese masks.
Catching sight of these, Jim gave an exclamation of horror.
"Mercy, look at those devil-faces!" he gasped.
"Devil-faces—which that ain't no compliment to the devil, an' I reckon
he's plumb mortified at sech remyarks. Them feachers is that fearful
they're suffeecient to promote silence in a hoot-owl," remarked
Broncho solemnly.
"This cabin is surely the dime-museum you were talking about," said
Jack, with a laugh.
"It's shore liable to give a gent who's been some free with the
nosepaint the jimjams in a highly variegated form. It would knock him
offen his mental reservation quicker'n a bullet out of a Winchester."
After searching through the berths, Broncho and Jack managed to
find clothes which fitted them; but Jim had to close-reef the legs of
his trousers and the ends of his sleeves before he could get his
hands and feet to appear.
Clad once more in dry raiment, they then made a descent upon the
deceased captain's stateroom, and overhauled the log-book.
It was a gloomy perusal.
They found the statements of the Kanaka Tari to be correct, and the
log had been written up to within the last month.
The entries were a series of tragedies. Solemnly Jack read them out,
picking the more important items:
"Oct. 2nd.—William K. Budd, 1st officer; James Rake, harpooner;
John Coffin and Pedro Gonzalez, able seamen, killed by a whale in
Lat. 43°25 North, Long. 136°15 East.
"Feb. 16th.—Henry Gaul, cooper, died of scurvy.
"Feb. 23rd.—Simeon Bennett and Henri Rochey, able seamen, died
of scurvy.
"May 2nd.—Shut in by pack ice in Lat. 69°12 South, Long. 140°63
West.
"May 15th.—Ezekiel K. Scruggs, 2nd officer, died of scurvy."
So the sad entries ran on until the last, which was entered in a very
shaky hand:
"Oct. 3rd.—Only six of ship's company left, including myself; all of
us, except two Kanakas, in the last stages of scurvy. Cannot last
many more days. Strong westerly winds with snow squalls
increasing in force. Unable to take sights. Ship hove-to on port tack."
"That's shore a heap melancholy. I surmise he cashes in poco
tiempo after them observations—his luck's that mighty rank, not to
say demoniac," was Broncho's comment.
"The first thing we'd better do," said Jack, as he closed the old
sharkskin-bound log-book, "is to examine into the provisions. I
expect they're liable to be pretty bad."
"I'm goin' to hunt up some fishing-lines," announced Jim. "Eating
deep-sea fish is better than living on food which has killed a whole
crew with scurvy."
"Which I think your proposeetion is as full of sense as a rattlesnake
in August is of p'ison," remarked Broncho approvingly.
Then, whilst Jim went after the fishing-lines, Jack and Broncho made
their way into the lazarette, and started to overhaul the stores.
"Just as I thought," muttered the former, holding aloft an old
binnacle-light which he had discovered and promptly brought into
use, and peering round the gloomy interior. "Condemned
Government stores, and the cabin truck run out."
Two or three barrels were standing already broached, with a few
pieces gone out of each, as if an attempt had been made to pick out
the best bits.
"This here pork an' beef is plenty lively for its years," declared
Broncho, his hand to his nose. "I reckon it has over a hundred rings
on its horns; but you can bet your moccasins it goes pawin' 'round in
a man's inside until it has him oozin' with p'ison from his spurs to his
sombrero. I ain't none surprised it makes a winnin' agin them
onfort'nit' whale-huntin' sports."
"And look at the hard-tack," said Jack, as he shook a handful of
weevils out of a biscuit.
"It's shore inhabited a whole lot. I allow them Kanakas has insides
like goats."
"Well, there's no time to be lost. The sight of that grub means
cracking on for the Islands," grunted Jack, as he hurriedly made for
the door.
"Can you locate us at all, Jack?" asked the cowboy, as they once
more breathed freely in the dime-museum cabin. "Ain't thar no
blazed trail we-alls could jump on to, so as to lope into Frisco some
quicker'n we've been comin' out?"
"'Fraid not; Frisco's a long way off, but I don't think we're more than a
week's sail from Pitcairn Island. This breeze'll let her head up within
a point of north. I'll get the latitude if I can catch the sun to-morrow,
but I'm afraid the longitude will be mere guess-work, as the
chronometers have both been allowed to run down."
"Wall, you play the hand, Jack; you're up in this ship's game. I just
come in blind an' leave it to you, bein' what you-alls might call an
amature."
"We'll just have a powwow with the Kanakas and then get to work,"
said Jack, as they left the cabin.
On gaining the deck they found the elements still moderating.
The Ocmulgee floated high out of the water as buoyant as a cork,
and her deck, except where the rollers slopped through the bulwark
ports, or an occasional saucy-crested comber popped over her
topgallant rail, was quite free of water.
At the stern was perched Jim, busily watching three fishing-lines,
whilst amidships Lobu still sat gazing at his ebony tiki.
From the caboose came a thin wreath of smoke, which blew down to
leeward in a long streamer. Tari was within, doing all he knew to
make a fat lump of rancid pork more or less eatable.
Jack gave a long look round the heaving horizon, but no sail broke
the monotony of rushing sea and sky. He then went and sounded the
pumps, and was well satisfied.
"An hour's work will pump her dry," he remarked to the cowpuncher.
"We'll get sail on her first, though."
Then, "All hands make sail!" he sang out cheerily, dropping naturally
into the position of leader.
"Jim, you're an active nipper and quicker than the rest of us; jump up
an' cast the gaskets off the main-topsails."
"Aye, aye, sir," returned the boy, with a twinkle in his eye and an
emphasis on the "sir."
But Jack never noticed it. He was too busily employed trying to make
Lobu understand that he had to get off his haunches and add his
weight and muscle as they mustered at the lower-topsail sheets.
"Warble out one o' them chanties o' yours, Jack," called the cowboy.
"They helps a man to brace back on a rope a whole lot."
Thereupon Jack struck up an old sea legend about a drowned sailor,
who married a mermaid and had an unpleasant habit of climbing up
ships' cables and frightening their crews.
Taking the upper-topsail halliards to a small capstan aft, they
tramped round strongly to the weird sailor song, in the wild chorus of
which even Tari joined:
"And it's blow, ye winds, heigh-ho!
Blow, ye winds, heigh-ho!
Blow away the mist and snow!
And it's blow, ye winds, heigh-ho!"
Before dark the Ocmulgee was plunging heavily along under two
lower-topsails, main upper-topsail, reefed foresail and staysails,
close hauled on the port tack.
The spanker was also set, without the head being hauled out.
By this time all hands were pretty well wearied, besides being very
keen set, and some of Tari's cooking was demolished with many
grimaces.
Then, leaving Jim at the wheel, they turned to again to rid the ship of
water, and it was close on two bells in the first watch before the
cheerful sound of the pumps sucking greeted their ears.
Leaving Lobu to resume his religious duties before the ebony image,
the rest of the small ship's company assembled round the wheel,
and held a counsel of ways and means.
"Wall, Jack," said Broncho, opening the debate, "you-alls bein' the
old he-coon of this outfit, we awaits your remyarks as to what trail
you allows we'd better pull our freight on to. We-alls wants to be
posted as to how the kyards are stackin' up, an' how we're to play
our hands to emerge victors out o' this here onexpected racket."
"I reckon we ought to be somewhere near Pitcairn or the Paumotus
in less than ten days," replied the rover easily.
"At Pitcairn we can get fresh fruit and vegetables. From there we can
jog across to Papeete, the port of Tahiti, hand the Ocmulgee over to
the American consul, and take schooner for Frisco."
"The way you puts it, this here bill o' fare seems some easy to chew
on," commented the cowpuncher, looking keenly at Jack. "Mebbe,
though, it ain't sech a cinch as I surmises. Ain't we-alls some scarce
as an outfit to keep this here ship from stampedin' 'way offen the
trail? Do you-alls reckon we is numerous enough to ride herd on
her."
"Well," returned Jack slowly, "we are rather short-handed, and that's
a fact. Still [with a smile], we're enough to keep the ship from milling.
[10] Tari and Jim can both steer; and you, Broncho, must have your
first lesson as soon as possible. We three will have to take watch
and watch, as I don't like to trust the ship to the Kanakas."
"And who'll ride first night gyard?" asked Broncho.
"You two both look pretty fagged out. Suppose you jump below and
turn in; Tari and I will keep the middle watch."
"I ain't tired—I'm as frisky as can be," objected Jim. "I might as well
take the first trick now I'm at the wheel."
"And I'm as full of buck as a corn-fed cow-pony," put in Broncho.
"You're lookin' some weary an' overplayed yourself, Jack; just you
prowl down in your blankets whilst Jim and I deal the game."
"I think we'd better elect a captain first," said the rover casually, "or
it'll be a case of too many cooks."
"Bein' as you savvys the game, Jack, I concloods you-alls is elected
onanimous; thar shore ain't no candidate for the opposition. You're
the range-boss o' this round-up."
"Why, 'er course," affirmed Jim.
"Well, then, you two obey orders and turn in until further notice,"
returned Jack, with a laugh.
"You guileful ole terrapin!" growled Broncho, as he reluctantly made
for the companion-way, followed by the boy.

FOOTNOTES:
[10] Going round in a circle, as cattle sometimes do when
frightened or restless.
 CHAPTER III
"THE BURNING OF THE SOUTH SEAMAN"
The night passed without incident, and dawn found the Ocmulgee
jogging along with the yards just off the backstays.
The wind had steadied down to a fair south-west breeze; the sea
was much quieter, and matters were looking up all round.
Broncho was taught to steer, and Jim fished indefatigably, but
beyond catching a huge molly-mawk, which had swooped on the
bait, he had not had much success.
Tari, however, the skilled harpooner, had managed to spear several
dolphins, and dolphin stew made a welcome addition to the poor
fare.
So the days passed.
Except for Lobu, the madman, who caused some anxiety by his
queer behaviour, all hands were pulling together well.
Tari proved to be invaluable. He had a soft, gentle nature and
worked like an ox, his disfigured countenance aglow with beaming
good temper.
He cooked, he steered, he was ready for everything and toiled away
unceasingly with wonderful endurance. The man was untiring in his
efforts to please, and Jack especially he seemed to take to.
"You my pleni," he had announced to that worthy in his soft
Polynesian tones.
Pleni means "friend," and has a peculiar sentimental significance in
the South Seas, and after this announcement Tari waited upon Jack
like a slave.
This behaviour seemed to impress the cowpuncher greatly, and
about the third day on board he commented on it to the rolling-stone.
"That 'ere Tari, whom you-alls say by his tattooing is a big chief,
behaves as if he's your nigger, Jack, an' he shore hungers to please
you. You sartinly has his affections roped, tied down, an' with your
brand on to 'em that-away. I watches him eyein' you with them big
antelope orbs o' his same as if you're some kind o' god, an' it's
plumb touchin' as a spectacle."
"That's the custom, Broncho, in the South Seas. The natives are like
affectionate dogs, and when a man announces that he is your pleni it
means that from then on you are his first consideration in this world,"
replied Jack. "It's a far, far stronger affection than that which lovers
hold to one another in the Society and Marquesas groups,
passionate though they are."
"Wall, I reckon a pagan Kanaka shore calls the turn that-away on
redskins. Tari's a different breed entire to them yellow snakes. I ain't
never seen the redskin's eye I'd trust, but Tari's I'd jest as soon stack
upon as any white man's."
"How do you like the Ocmulgee's tobacco?" asked Jack, as he lit his
pipe behind his hands.
"For smokin' it'll about run in double harness with tea, which same is
puttin' it some mild; but for chewin' it makes me as peevish as a sick
infant, it's that rank, an' shore gives a gent a ja'ndiced view of life."
During this conversation they were seated round the cabin skylight in
the first dog-watch.
Suddenly Lobu, who as usual was engaged in mysterious
confidence with his black baby-god, sprang to his feet, and with a
wild cry seized Tari's harpoon, which was resting up against the fife-
rail; then, before any one of them could make a move, he had the
weapon poised for a terrific lunge at Jack.
Like a wild thing, Jim, who was steering, flung himself in front of his
hero. At the same moment, Tari, making a wonderful shot with a
belaying-pin, which he had snatched from the rail, dashed the
harpoon to the deck, and before the infuriated madman could pick up
his weapon, all hands had scattered for safety.
"He's running amuck! Look out for yourselves!" roared Jack, as he
dodged round the companion.
Broncho made a break for the tryworks, whilst Jim, springing on to
the main fife-rail, went hand-over-hand up the port lower-topsail
sheet.
Foaming at the mouth and jerking forth queer, wild guttural cries,
Lobu, with weapon raised on high, hurled himself round the
companion after Jack; but the fleet-footed Britisher was too quick for
him.
Foiled here, he suddenly turned and launched his weapon at Jim,
who was swarming up the purchase with the agility of a monkey.
Nothing but a sharp roll of the ship saved the boy, and the harpoon
stuck quivering in the mainmast.
Meanwhile, Broncho, with the ready resource of a frontiersman, had
seized the coil of line from a boat tub, and hastily making a running
bowline, crept up behind the unsuspecting Kanaka.
Lobu now stood hesitating, and gazing stupidly up at Jim above him.
With a quick twist of the wrist the rope snaked from the cowboy's
hand, and the loop dropped neatly over the insane man's head and
shoulders. With such an expert at roping and throwing as Broncho, it
was but a moment before Lobu lay on the deck, securely bound and
helpless.
"My! That was close!" panted Jim, as he slid down to the deck.
"Jim, shake!" said the rover, breathing deeply and with the smallest
tremble in his voice. "I won't forget what you did to-day as long as I
live."
The boy blushed vividly with pleasure, and stammered out
something which was quite unintelligible, whilst Broncho said
heartily:
"Good for you, son! It shore were a clean strain play o' yours, an'
plumb full o' sand as the Mohave desert."
Then Tari came in for congratulations and thanks, and the way Jack
gripped his hand made the Islander beam with pleasure and wince
with pain.
"Fine shootin', Tari, as ever I sees," commented Broncho. "Black
Davis is plumb childlike with a belayin'-pin compared to you."
The question now was, what was to be done with Lobu, who lay on
the deck panting and spent, and apparently sane enough again,
though rolling his eyes in wide alarm.
"I believe he thinks we are going to cook and eat him," observed
Jack. "The Marquesans always used to eat the captured amongst
their enemies."
"I'm feelin' some hungry myself," asserted Broncho, with his slow,
quiet drawl, which always grew slower and more serious the lighter
and more flippant the remark he was making happened to be.
This was the way with the cowboy. On serious or more important
subjects he assumed a lightness and indifference in his speech
which he was very far from feeling, whilst he brought out a joke with
more solemnity than a Chancellor of the Exchequer introducing the
budget.
"We'll shore have to skin him," he went on. "Eating a gent unskinned
when he's tattooed that-away would give folks delusions that they're
consumin' of boa-constrictors, which same is liable to give
palp'tations round the cartridge-belt to a gent who's been used to
beans, salt pig, an' air-tights, bein' some rich an' high-flung as an
edible."
Jack and Tari proceeded to have a long consultation together in the
Marquesan dialect, at the end of which the former turned to the
others and said:
"Tari wants us to set him loose. He says he'll watch him closely, and
give us warning if he looks like having another fit of man-hunting.
What do you say, boys?"
"Wall, you can bet your moccasins I'm goin' to pack 'round a six-
shooter in future. That 'ere Lobu springs his little game on us that
headlong an' sudden, an' puts sech fervor into it, that he comes near
callin' a show-down on the crowd; an' in the event of his scoutin' off
on the war-path again, I reckon I'll plant some lead amongst his
idees, an' sober him some," pronounced Broncho.
"He don't look any too safe," said Jim, as Lobu, having recovered his
breath, began to scowl and mutter to himself.
"I'm an Apache if he ain't hungerin' to begin his butchery again,"
drawled Broncho; "he's shore due to inaug'rate a holycaust if we
turns him loose."
"Heart no bad! Head bad!" said Tari sadly.
"Mebbe, son, mebbe. But he ain't sedentary enough to go
skallyhootin' 'round onfettered; he's a heap too vivid an' high-
sperited, an' is liable to crease one of us mavericks."
"Better put him in the forepeak and clap the hatch on over him,"
proposed Jack.
"He's cert'nly too apparent on the scenery where he is," declared the
cowboy.
Jack's idea was finally acted on. Lobu and his ebony idol were
relegated to the forepeak, and once more serenity prevailed.
With sunset the wind died down considerably, and the long swell
caused the Ocmulgee to roll heavily.
Night descended. The sky became one sparkling mantle of stars,
and the sea, in heavy black ridges, lumbered in from the westward,
slow and dignified, the last relics of the Roaring Forties.
At each lurch of the vessel her canvas thumped against the masts
and rigging, giving forth a sound like the cracking of an Australian
stockwhip.
The dark form of the cowboy at the wheel swayed slowly backwards
and forwards across the glittering moonlight as the vessel rolled.
The flare of the galley fire peeped forth forward in shafts of yellow
light. The silent decks were striped with cold moonbeams and inky
shadows, weird and eerie-looking, the great whale-jaws at the
companion giving a grotesque appearance to the after part of the
barque.
Occasionally the top of a roller would slop in through a port, and
ripple across the sloping deck like a stream of shining silver.
Reclining on the locker which ran round the cabin skylight lay Jack
Derringer, pipe in mouth, lazily watching his beloved stars.
Forward the Kanaka Tari could be seen flitting backwards and
forwards across the shaft of light from the galley, busily engaged in
gathering fuel from the fore 'tween-decks.
Presently he went forward, and lifting the hatch of the forepeak,
looked down into the gloom, where lay the poor madman.
As he bent over the hatch a heavy volume of smoke poured forth,
enveloping his face and causing him to cough.
Hastily withdrawing his head he rushed aft, crying in his strange,
broken English:
"Shippe burn! shippe burn! Lobu settee fire shippe!"
Up jumped Jack, quick to think and quick to act.
"Leave the wheel, Broncho, there's not enough wind to hurt. You, Jim
and Tari, get the quarter-deck buckets forrard. Follow me, Broncho—
sail-locker, spare t'gallants'l."
Short and sharp came the words, and Jack was gone.
In an incredibly short space of time Broncho and the rover
reappeared with the sail on their shoulders.
Meanwhile, Tari and Jim had succeeded in hauling the senseless
form of Lobu out of the forepeak, and were hard at work throwing
water on to the smother of smoke.
It was a slow process, however, as the water had to be drawn over
the side, there being no pump on board.
Rapidly the sail was dipped overboard and spread out.
"Pass it down to me, boys," called Jack; and before any one could
divine his intention, he had descended the ladder into the midst of
the smoke.
With hurried hands the sail was lowered down after him, and for a
few minutes it looked as if the fire was going to be smothered.
With redoubled vigour they turned to the buckets, and, in a constant
stream, the water was sent sousing down.
Suddenly Jack's head appeared, soaking wet and blackened with
smoke, at the top of the ladder.
"An axe!" he gasped out. "The bulkhead's caught!"
"An axe! an axe!" repeated Jim aimlessly.
But Tari, with two bounds, reached the caboose, and snatching up
the weapon with which he had lately been chopping wood, dashed
forward and handed it to Jack, who once more descended, having
tied a red silk handkerchief over his nose and mouth.
Then the sound of blows could be heard below, as the rolling-stone
battled with the flaming bulkhead.
Suddenly the chopping ceased, the dense clouds of smoke were
redoubled, and a second later flames were perceived.
Meanwhile, no signs of Jack.
The bucket gang began to grow anxious.
"Hey, Jack, cut loose outer that, or you'll get straddled," called
Broncho.
In response, a faint cry as if from a long way off came floating up.
Still no Jack.
Moments passed, and it was plain to all that the fire was rapidly
gaining on them.
"Come up, Jack, come up!" cried the boy wildly.
"No use, Jim," growled the cowpuncher. "You can't ride him—no, not
with buckin' straps an' a Spanish bit."
No responding cry was heard this time.
"My God, where is he?" exclaimed Jim with alarm. "He'll suffocate
and lose his senses if he stays down there any longer."
"I guess I'll just scout 'round an 'see how he's playin' the game.
Mebbe them flames makes a winnin' against him," said Broncho
leisurely, in his most indifferent tones—the very carelessness a sure
sign that he was deeply anxious.
"Lemme go, lemme go!" urged Jim, his voice strained and
overwrought.
"No, son, it's my bet," said the cowpuncher, as he slipped a rope's-
end over his shoulders. "Now, you-alls cinch on to the end o' this, an'
if I don't show up on the scenery in five minutes, just yank me out,
an' don't use no mildness neither"; and down went Broncho.
A minute later he reappeared, followed by an object whom they had
some difficulty in recognising as Jack Derringer.
He was black as a sweep. His clothes were in tatters and
smouldering in places; most of the hair on one side of his head was
singed off, and he was evidently very exhausted.
On reaching the deck he swayed unsteadily, and then toppled over
in a faint.
"One o' them locoed critters who don't know when they've got
enough," growled Broncho, as he soused a bucket of water over the
inanimate form.
"You go to blazes!" came in faint tones from the senseless man, and
two rows of gleaming white teeth appeared in the blackened
countenance of the rover, as his lips curved in a smile and he slowly
opened and shut one eye.
Jack was only overcome by the fumes of smoke, which had got into
his lungs, and the fresh air and cold water rapidly revived him.
Presently he sat up.
"It's no use," he exclaimed. "The ship's saturated with oil, and will be
in a blaze fore and aft in half an hour."
And the flames and smoke, which were now bursting through the
scuttle, gave point and emphasis to his remarks.
"Which is the best of the whaleboats, Tari?" he continued.
"De starbo'd boat on de quarter."
"Well, jump's the word, boys. Hustle, we've got no time to lose.
Broncho, you and Tari fill the water-breakers belonging to the boats;
Jim and I will get the grub on deck."
Working with a will, they got the whaleboat over, and whilst Tari and
Jim jumped into her, Jack and Broncho passed the provisions along.
She was a magnificent boat, a fine specimen of New Bedford
handiwork, and held a vast amount without any overloading.
The four boat-breakers were passed in, a keg of biscuits, and
enough salt horse to last close on a month with care; then a huge
tarpaulin, a spare mast and sails from one of the other boats, four
Winchester rifles and ammunition, whilst the three white men each
buckled on a revolver and belt of cartridges.
This armament was Jack's forethought, for he knew that possibly
they might find themselves amongst the Paumotu or Low
Archipelago of atolls, which had got a very bad reputation and lay
right in their course for either Tahiti or the Marquesas.
The sextant was not forgotten, or the chronometer; and even
oilskins, blankets, and spare clothing were handed aboard. Whilst
the small ship's company worked hard to provision the whaleboat,
the old oil-sodden Ocmulgee was blazing furiously.
The whole of her, forward, was now a mass of flame, which with long
yellow tongues went licking out to the end of the jibboom and up the
tarred shrouds aloft. The foresail and topsails soon caught fire, and,
with the blazing jibs and rigging, lit up the scene until the castaways
were working as if by daylight.
At two bells in the first watch the fore-topmast came down with a
crash, a mass of sparks like a St. Catherine's wheel; then, plunging
into the sea with a loud hiss, it lay dead, a blackened, charred wreck.
By this time the main rigging had caught, and the ship was like a
gigantic beacon.
"We'd better shove off clear of her at once," cried Jack, as he
appeared out of the cabin entrance, his arms full of odds and ends.
"What you totin' along, Jack?" inquired Broncho, from the boat.
"Tobacco, matches, bull's-eye lantern, hammer, saw, packet of nails,
two towels, a housewife, fishing-lines and hooks, spy-glass, nautical
almanac, chopper——"
"Ain't you forgot somethin?" broke in the cowpuncher, with gentle
irony.
Lobu had already been placed in the boat securely bound. He had
recovered his senses, and sat quiet and sphinxlike on the
floorboards.
As they were preparing to shove off, Tari rushed forward, and
presently reappeared with his beloved harpoon.
"All aboard!" now sang out Jack lightly. "Any more for the shore?"
He was a most cheery person to be shipwrecked with. His spirits
rose with the danger. Desperate situations, hardships, the near
approach of death, all seemed to act upon him as a tonic and instil
him with an infectious gaiety.
He jumped lightly into the boat and they shoved on.
"Kaoha, nuir!" muttered Tari, as they pulled away from the burning
ship.
It was a friendly farewell, for the words, roughly translated, meant,
"We part in friendship!"
Jim hummed the famous chanty:
"Leave her, Johnny, leave her,
It's time for us to leave her."
"To fa,[11] old ship!" called Jack. "The luck's against you. Kismet,
always Kismet!"
"Yes, the kyards is stackin' up against you, an' like many another
clean-strain gent, you bucks against them without weakenin'. Finally,
you cashes in, back to the wall, boots on an' your gun empty. Old
Ocmulgee, I looks towards you, you're dyin' game." Thus Broncho.
It was a melancholy sight as, lying on the swell about half a cable's
length off, they watched for the end.
She was now in flames fore and aft. Every rope was a thread of fire.
Even where they lay to windward they could hear it roaring and
hissing as it wrapped the poor old barque in its furious toils.
The sea sparkled in the reflection. The smoke fell away to leeward in
a huge bank of black, blotting out the stars.
The faces of the boat's crew showed red and yellow in the glare of
the fiery blast—Tari's sad and downcast, Lobu's sullen and
indifferent, Jim's wide-eyed, the cowboy's keen and interested, and
Jack's dreary but resolute.
In silence they watched the end, each wrapped up in his own
thoughts.
Tari wistfully wondered if he would ever see his beloved island home
again, with its breadfruit trees and cocoanut palms, its surf-beaten
shores and rocky headlands, its sandy inlets and crystal streams;
and not least, its light-hearted, flower-decked maidens. He was
weary and worn with this tragic voyage, tired of this buffeting by the
Fates about the rough world, and longed desperately for his own
paepae-hae once more.
Jim, who had never known a paepae-hae, whose only home had
been a ship's foc's'le, whose playground had been that rough one
the wide world, recalled tales of open-boat experiences with a feeling
half of dread for the future, half of excited anticipation, the glamour
and fascination of uncertain fortune making itself felt even in his
small but romantic breast.
Broncho pondered upon the strange freaks of Dame Fortune, the
streaks of good and bad luck, called by some "Providence," which go
to make up men's lives.
Jack stared with the bright glare of the flaming ship full in his eyes,
yet saw it not. His mind was far away. His memory was crowded with
strange events, perils overcome, dangers met and conquered on the
battlefield, in the bush, on deep water, and on mountain top, and his
courage rose high—that courage which, in conjunction with iron
nerves, great strength to suffer, and absolute fearlessness of death,
made the rolling-stone such a difficult man for the Fates to trample
upon.
Well he knew the terrors which were likely to be before them, the
terrors of an open boat alone in mid-ocean—the torments of thirst
and hunger, the growing weakness of mind and body, the aching,
cramped limbs, the perils of storm and calm, the gradual feeling of
despair, the long days of helplessness, then the feverish senses full
of distorted views as mind and body grew more diseased, and, last
of all, the wild, raving delirium. Well he knew them. He gave himself
a shake and braced his mind to fight the coming battle.
All night the Ocmulgee roared, hissed, and crackled. All night the
yellow tongues flared in fiery coils about her.
At six bells, eleven o'clock, the mainmast went by the board; then
the mizzen tottered, swayed, hung for a moment like a flaming Tower
of Pisa, and then slowly, deliberately, plunged into the sea.
A smother of foam burst forth, the sparkling white enveloping the
flickering yellow and extinguishing it.
In the black background of smoke the red sparks gleamed like
myriads of fire-flies.
And now, as the flames broke out over the hull, the salt-incrusted
timbers turned the yellow tongues into weird blue and green flares,
which in all the shades of the rainbow flickered and flourished.
Still the gallant old ship floated, and it was not more than an hour
before dawn when at last, being burnt down to the water's edge, the
Ocmulgee had to give up the fight.